Do you want to go to the seaside?

‘Do you want to go to the seaside?
I’m not trying to say that everybody wants to go
I fell in love at the seaside
I handled my charm with time and slight of hand’
– The Kooks, Seaside

I love the seaside. I love the sea and the sand, I love the smell of salt and seaweed, I love the screaming seagulls, and the ice cream, and fish and chips… I love that despite the fact that I lived near the sea for most of my teenage years, being at the seaside will always be a holiday. Standing on the beach with your toes scrunching in the sand is just the best bit of the summer so, when entering Charlie’s summer story writing contest, it could only be about a particularly memorable trip to the beach…


It was beautiful, just as I had been promised. I had only 2 weeks to explore as much of Australia as I could before starting my placement in Sydney but had been told that a self-drive tour of Fraser Island was a highlight that should not be missed, despite taking up a precious three days of my trip. And they were right – three days of driving a 4×4 hell for leather through the surf and white sands, pulling up to swim in deep blue lagoons and diving into giant rock pools as the waves crashed in around me…it was literally heaven. Heaven with BBQs and cheap wine in boxes! At 24, I was probably the oldest of the gap year crowd. Older perhaps, but no wiser.

I first saw him on the last night. All of the cars had pulled up in the same inlet, headlights pointing in a circle to illuminate the BBQ in the centre, with music blaring in a cacophony from 3 different car radios as each group competed for supremacy. Engines were switched on periodically to recharge the batteries, adding a deep, throbbing, diesel-powered bass to the soundtrack. The carnival attitude infected everyone. As it was the last night, everything had to go – all the food, all the alcohol, everything…only breakfast needed to be saved before the ferry home the next day. It was like the end of term and it was amazing. I barely knew anyone and would certainly never see them again, but the camaraderie of shared experience and freedom created an easy familiarity that destroyed my usual shyness, my usual caution. I could be anyone here. I could do anything. And that was far more intoxicating than the effect of the dubious wine and sunshine!

He was not my usual type…at all. He was stocky and wasn’t that tall. He had the most enormous arms that I have ever seen and wore a vest, which revealed a muscular back that must have been forged during many too many hours in the gym. His conversation was peppered with what can only be described as banter, which may make me a snob but is never a compliment, and he insisted on calling me posh…over and over again. Not usually a smart move but, fuck it, he had a gorgeous smile and a spark in his eyes and, when he lifted me over his shoulder to carry me to the fire built in the fire ring in the sand, I had to admit that those ridiculous arms might be good for something.

When he finally threw me down, I was breathless. I already missed his contact – the firm hold of his hand on my back and his arm around my legs as he’d hoisted me over his shoulder. I wanted him like I’d never wanted anyone before – fast and hard, and never again. It was liberating to act as I’d never done before, to give in to my body and forget the consequences. I took any excuse to touch him…slapping his chest as he mocked me, running my hands over his arms when he wasn’t looking, scraping my fingers through his hair to dislodge the sand that had deposited itself but everywhere. We flirted, we drank, we laughed. He glowed in the firelight and I melted under his gaze.

Suddenly oppressed by the crowd, I grabbed his hand and pulled him away, over the dune that protected the camp and onto the beach. The moonlight caught the waves as they rolled in towards us. Running from him, I started dancing in the shallow water, my toes scratching patterns into the sand that revealed the bright phosphorescence beneath. Glittering trails of light followed me as I whirled around and around, until the next wave crashed in, washing away the delicate lights and splashing my legs and thighs. He just stood there and laughed at me as I shrieked and pranced in the waves. And then, suddenly, he strode in towards me, pulled me into his arms and kissed me, hard and long. It was such a cliche – bathed in moonlight on an empty beach, standing in the surf, oblivious to the waves breaking around us, but it worked. Nothing about this night was real, and it felt right to be hungrily kissing this hot stranger like I belonged in a teen romance.

Before I really even knew what was going on, we were out of the water and falling together onto the dunes. I gasped as his hands, cold from the sea, pushed under my shirt and slid up my burning skin. Soon, my bikini top was ripped off and my nipples hardened at the delicious combination of the cool sea breeze and his warm mouth. My fingers scraped up his back, scratching off sand as I pulled his vest over his head. As I kissed and licked my way down his over-sculpted chest, I could taste the salt from the sweat and sea water of the day. I took his cock in my mouth and he groaned, pushing down into me, his hands on the back of my head. I glanced up and had a moment of dissociation at the surreal image of this man, gleaming slightly in the moonlight with thousands of stars filling the sky above him, my lips firmly around his cock as I sucked him deeper into my throat.

Pushing me back onto the sand, he reached into his short’s pocket for a condom and I gave silent thanks for the ever optimism of boys on holiday that it was worth keeping one on him at all times! He slowly slid a finger into my wet cunt and I moaned, pushing up against him, wanting…needing more. Taking his cue, he thrust inside me and it was exactly as I wanted – powerful, greedy…selfish somehow as neither of us knew each other well enough to know what the other needed and were just left to hope that it was what we wanted ourselves…and it worked out pretty well to be honest!

Afterwards, as we lay panting at each other’s sides, I remember struggling to suppress a fit of laughter as I suddenly realised that I had sand literally everywhere. Luckily, he also saw the funny side and, after brushing each other off, we dressed and headed back to the camps where, with a final kiss, we parted.

Breakfast the next day was subdued. The party was over. Fried eggs and bacon soothed cheap wine hangovers, and we packed up to leave. I saw him again only once, when swimming in the Champagne Pools at the furthest point of the island before the drive back. As I floated in the effervescent water, stirred up to its namesake by the incoming waves, he dived in the other end. I smiled at him, and he waved back…but the spell was broken, the moment had passed. We didn’t speak again, but it didn’t matter. I’d fallen in love with the seaside many years before, and the memory of the fun that can be had in the sand just ensured that this will be a long and happy relationship…

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